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Condé Nast Traveler

In Okinawa, the Enduring Legacy of Bingata Textiles

This is part of a collection of stories spotlighting deeply rooted—yet sometimes less exposed—crafts hubs around the world and how to experience them. Read more here. At Chinen Bingata laboratory on the western edge of Naha in Japan's Okinawa prefecture, the 10th-generation bingata artist Toma Chinen is leaning over a piece of fabric that depicts hibiscus flowers on a yellow canvas. In the brightly lit, airy space, stacked rows of colorful textiles are stretched to dry along the walls. At a long, narrow table, a woman carves an ornate design of geese and peonies into a stencil, using a rectangle of dried tofu as a cutting board. Another paints a koi fish in a medley of purple, blue, and pink, dipping her short, stubby brush into red pigment mixed with soy milk. The artisans' slow movements look like a meditative dance. Chinen explains that the two-to-three-month process, which includes masking parts of the textile with a rice-based resist-dye paste, has barely changed since the time of the Ryukyu Kingdom, the trading nation with its own language, customs, and culture that flourished in Okinawa for 450 years beginning in the 15th century. While Japan is known for its ceramics, silks, and washi papers, in Okinawa the lesser-known stencil dyeing tradition of bingata reigns supreme. The prefecture has become popular for its pristine beaches and the healthy lifestyle that has made it one of the world's five designated 'Blue Zones,' but its endemic craft is also a key to its identity. Drawing inspiration from imported textiles that use resist-dye techniques like Chinese nankeen indigo and Indonesian batik, bingata originated as part of the wardrobe of Ryukyu royals. But after Japan annexed the kingdom in 1879, the practice declined. The 1945 Battle of Okinawa, in addition to costing more than 100,000 civilian lives, destroyed most bingata dyes and stencils. But after the war, a handful of artisans sought to revive the craft. Today their descendants are continuing their work. Indigo dyeing at Chinen Bingata Laboratory Chinen Bingata Laboratory The roof of Shurijo Castle in Naha Andrew Faulk As I walk through the warm, humid air of downtown Naha, the legacy of the war is still evident. While aerial views of Okinawa are a shock of turquoise waters and white-sand beaches, on the ground, Naha offers an unexpected lesson in Brutalist architecture—the product of a post–World War II reconstruction effort that rebuilt the flattened city using affordable material of the era. I make my way down the palm-tree-lined Kokusai-dori, a popular shopping street, past terra-cotta and porcelain pairs of male and female Shisa statues that ward off evil at every door and bottles of medicinal habushu liquor with vipers coiled at the bottom. Everywhere I turn, textiles with flower, plant, fish, and bird motifs line shelves. Bingata is now a common sight in Okinawan souvenir stores, but to see the skill behind the craft, I head to Eiichi Shiroma's workshop. An artisan hand-paints a textile Chinen Bingata Laboratory Shiroma is a 16th-generation artisan who operates his three-story studio near Naha's main landmark, the Ryukyu-era Shurijo Castle, in the same space where his grandfather Eiki Shiroma worked. As we pass shelves lined with stencils and brushes, Shiroma tells me his grandfather returned to practicing bingata two years after the war, while still in a US prison camp. The Shiromas, along with the Chinens, had been just one of three original families commissioned by the Ryukyu court to make the royal cloth. Driven by that legacy, Eiki used whatever tools he could find (flour sacks for canvases, clock hands as stencil-carving tools, lipstick as dye) to make bingata holiday cards for American soldiers. 'He wanted to protect Ryukyu culture,' says Eiichi. Over at Yuki Miyagi's studio in Nakijin, a quiet oceanside village in northern Okinawa, a single bingata strip in large floral patterns is stretched across the length of the galley-like room. Unlike Shiroma and Chinen, Miyagi is a solo artist. After studying textiles at university in her native Tohoku region, she moved to Okinawa to train under Sekigen Chinen, another descendant of the three original bingata families. 'I'm drawn to the beauty of bingata,' Miyagi tells me. 'Watching the vivid colors emerge on white silk is truly magical.' Her work is sold at Jumonjiya, Naha's oldest kimono shop, which has been selling ceremonial and casual wear for more than a century. While the previous location was destroyed during the war, the current iteration has operated on Kokusai-dori for the past four decades. Cherry blossom season in Naha, the capital of Okinawa prefecture Getty An intricately patterned bingata kimono from artist Toma Chinen's Okinawa workshop Chinen Bingata Laboratory Toma Chinen's appointment-only studio employs around 10 artisans to produce his coveted bingata kimonos, which have wait times of up to a year. Most Okinawan bingata makers derive their livelihoods from individual and wholesale kimono orders from mainland Japan, but Chinen, who has been practicing bingata since he was 16, hopes more people around the world will discover the craft. 'Bingata is not just about the cloth,' he tells me. 'It's about the connection with other people and nations through trade.' During Ryukyu times, he points out, dyes used not only indigenous local ingredients like the bark of the native fukugi tree but also foreign imports like cochineal, an insect native to South America. For Chinen, Ryukyu artisans were akin to diplomats, improving on foreign techniques and exporting their creations throughout the world, much as he seeks to do today. 'Bingata has survived because of its story,' he says. Near the end of my trip, I return to Kokusai-dori to visit Keystone, a fine handicrafts store across the road from Kuninda, a 30-seat Ryukyu cuisine tasting room. Past the shelves of deep-blue and gray ceramics, a burst of color catches my eye. As a final souvenir I purchase a striking purse with a red-winged phoenix, a mythical bird of Chinese origin often found in bingata patterns, dancing joyously among purple peonies on a rich yellow canvas. When I carry it back home, I think about Eiichi Shiroma's parting words. 'Okinawa is a small island and our people have faced severe hardships, but they've accepted what happened, changing this past into something positive. Through bingata, I want my children to understand that the world is beautiful.' This article appeared in the September/October 2025 issue of Condé Nast Traveler. Subscribe to the magazine here.